She had released Mr. Polly from the irksome duty of issuing invitations, and as the moments of assembly drew near she sent him and Mr. Johnson out into the narrow long strip of garden at the back of the house, to be free to put a finishing touch or so to her preparations. She sent them out together because she had a queer little persuasion at the back of her mind that Mr. Polly wanted to bolt from his sacred duties, and there was no way out of the garden except through the house. Mr. Johnson was a steady, successful gardener, and particularly good with celery and peas. He walked slowly along the narrow path down the centre pointing out to Mr. Polly a number of interesting points in the management of peas, wrinkles neatly applied and difficulties wisely overcome, and all that he did for the comfort and propitiation of that fitful but rewarding vegetable. Presently a sound of nervous laughter and raised voices from the house proclaimed the arrival of the earlier guests, and the worst of that anticipatory tension was over. When Mr. Polly re-entered the house he found three entirely strange young women with pink faces, demonstrative manners and emphatic mourning, engaged in an incoherent conversation with Mrs. Johnson. All three kissed him with great gusto after the ancient English fashion. "These are your cousins Larkins," said Mrs. Johnson; "that's Annie (unexpected hug and smack), that's Miriam (resolute hug and smack), and that's Minnie (prolonged hug and smack)." "Right-O," said Mr. Polly, emerging a little crumpled and breathless from this hearty introduction. "I see." "Here's Aunt Larkins," said Mrs. Johnson, as an elderly and stouter edition of the three young women appeared in the doorway. Mr. Polly backed rather faint-heartedly, but Aunt Larkins was not to be denied. Having hugged and kissed her nephew resoundingly she gripped him by the wrists and scanned his features. She had a round, sentimental, freckled face. "I should '_ave_ known 'im anywhere," she said with fervour. "Hark at mother!" said the cousin called Annie. "Why, she's never set eyes on him before!" "I should '_ave_ known 'im anywhere," said Mrs. Larkins, "for Lizzie's child. You've got her eyes! It's a Resemblance! And as for _never seeing 'im_-- I've _dandled_ him, Miss Imperence. I've dandled him." "You couldn't dandle him now, Ma!" Miss Annie remarked with a shriek of laughter. All the sisters laughed at that. "The things you say, Annie!" said Miriam, and for a time the room was full of mirth. Mr. Polly felt it incumbent upon him to say something. "_My_ dandling days are over," he said. The reception of this remark would have convinced a far more modest character than Mr. Polly that it was extremely witty. Mr. Polly followed it up by another one almost equally good. "My turn to dandle," he said, with a sly look at his aunt, and convulsed everyone. "Not me," said Mrs. Larkins, taking his point, "_thank_ you," and achieved a climax.